﻿What then have I to do with thoughts
That blanch the cheek and chill the blood?
Some wretched slave may quake and start,
Who hast'ning through Ghilan's lone wood,
Hears ravening jackals distant howl,—
But I? Nay, who doth not revere
The brazen doors my guards defend?
Who dares, unsummoned, enter here?

﻿Shall baseless terrors mock my peace,
And chide desired Sleep away?
Forbidding her to close mine eyes,
Tormenting me when I would pray?
The years are long; yet time hath sped,
And Earth forgets what once she knew,
For hidden far beneath her view,
The grasses wave above my dread.

﻿The guests attend me. Wake, my will!
Put off this garb of sullen gloom!
The dead may neither wound nor blight;
And vengeance slumbers in the tomb.
Be thou but firm, and all's secure:
Match well thy purpose to the hour,
Nor babble what is voiceless still,—
Not Eblis shall abase thy power!

·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·

﻿Heard you a knocking then, my lords?
No?—and the wind, you think, sounds so?
To me 't was as a stroke of doom,
Reverberate from some long ago.

﻿Well, since 't was nothing, speed the cheer!
Nor sit like phantoms dull and mute,
For something which ye did not hear.

﻿Ye thought me weary? So: and then?
Am I not mortal like the rest?
May I not falter in my mirth,
Nor palsy every guest? . . .

﻿That knocking!—Ah! you note it now.
It vexed me men should disallowA sound more dread than frenzy's shriek,—
And prate of a wind-blown bough!

·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·﻿·

﻿Thine errand, sirrah! Who's without
That may not be denied?
A stranger? And thou darest bring
His hests unbidden before thy king?

﻿A stranger? Though his need be stout,
And stubborn as his pride,
Is 't here that he should seek our face?
Command him to the appointed place,
And those who should provide!